


give me a run for my money

by retweet_this



Series: see on both sides [2]
Category: Crooked Media RPF, Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US)
Genre: #apologiestojonlovett, #justiceformike, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 22:11:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retweet_this/pseuds/retweet_this
Summary: Mike’s always been a nice guy.





	give me a run for my money

New York is a big city, but the pool of 2018 Pulitzer Prize winners is small. Mike has a keen awareness of this on the ride to the Newseum. It’s one thing that this is his first Pulitzer – it’s another that he’s going to be sharing a stage with a guy he walked out on and has been subsequently ignoring ever since.

New York is a big city. The world is somehow smaller. And somehow incredible at fucking him over at every turn.

Emily’s sitting next to him, texting Daniel about – wedding stuff, probably. Mike wouldn’t know, he’s not leaning over and reading her messages, he’s too busy staring down at his phone and trying to figure out what he’s going to say if he runs into Ronan.

_Hey, sorry I walked out on you after we had sex and then ignored all your messages until you stopped texting and never followed up or explained my actions._

No, that’s too weird. Imagine if he said that out loud.

He shudders and Emily looks up at him, brow raised. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” he nods, a little too vehemently for it to be convincing at all. “Yeah, just, you know…” _Thinking about my ex? Is he an ex? Stop thinking about it._

“Nervous about your first Pulitzer?” she smiles.

“ _Our_ first Pulitzer,” he corrects, joining in on the smile once the weird feeling in his gut settles a little. “We did this together – well, you did a lot of it. Maybe they should’ve just given you this Pulitzer all by yourself, with how symbolic it is and everything.”

Emily laughs as she elbows his side, rolling her eyes a little and brushing her hair out of her forehead. “I didn’t know your self-esteem issues went this far.”

“It’s not that,” Mike huffs. He can’t stay angry too long when she’s smiling at him like that. Somehow, she became one of his best friends and now he really can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. “I’m… I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Who else would get you out of the house more often?” Emily laughs when Mike does, and for a brief moment, he forgets what he was even worrying about in the first place.

It’s a very, very brief moment because as soon as he steps inside the hall, he sees him. Ronan, holding his court right by the entrance like he’s the grand attraction tonight which, fuck, he is, isn’t he?

He’s laughing at something when he looks over and of course their eyes have to meet. Ronan’s face freezes mid-smile and Mike wonders what his looks like. Likely a mixture of shock and panic and a desperate desire to turn right around and walk out before he has to deal with this any longer.

Emily tugs on his arm, “Come on, Mike, let’s find our seats,” and he follows her without even thinking. It takes a while for him to tear his gaze away from Ronan but he manages.

“Think we’ll be sitting together?” he says aloud, which is a very stupid thing to say because of course they’ll be sitting together, they’re from the same publication and it’s a joint fucking prize, it’s not like there’s even a remote chance that they aren’t sitting together.

Emily laughs and it makes Mike feel only a little bit better. Not much, but a little.

The remote good he felt earlier completely dissipates as the evening goes on. Everywhere is dark except for the stage so he has no idea where Ronan is, let alone if he’s trying to look for him in return. He zones out a few times during some of the speeches, and then the part that really gets to him comes as Emily nudges his side.

“Get up,” she whispers, smiling genially as she does.

He gets to his feet beside her. People are clapping around them and – oh, fuck. She’s pulling out a folded piece of paper from her purse. Mike can feel the blood draining from his face but before he can say anything, she slips it into his pocket and he’s following her up the steps and onto the stage.

This is great. This is just great. Oh, more people joining them on stage. Maybe they could get the whole crowd up here so he wouldn’t have to stare at them from where he is.

They end up standing near the middle, backs pressed firmly against the wall, and Mike makes sure both his speech are level on the floor when he asks, “You didn’t hand me a speech I have to read, did you?”

Emily all but rolls her eyes as she retrieves the paper she tossed in his pocket. “Never fear, I told them I’d do the speech. You just have to sit back and look pretty.”

“Hey,” Mike says. He tries to sound exasperated but it comes out as relieved, and he’s throwing a soft smile at Emily right as someone steps next to her and – fuck.

Fucking fuck. Of fucking course. Out of the frying pan of public speaking and into the fire of spending time with someone you were trying your damn hardest to avoid.

“Hey,” Ronan says with a slight wave.

“Hi,” Emily hums. Mike barely lifts his head and inclines it at him, though, admittedly, it is for a lack of trying. He doesn’t think he can muster the energy, his entire body feels tense and upset.

“Congratulations,” Ronan continues, voice lower once the speaker resumes. And really, they’re _right_ behind the guy, shouldn’t they be showing him some kind of decency or something?

“Thanks, you too.”

He smiles at her – and then at Mike, as if to show that he hasn’t fallen for his tactic of trying to disappear into the wall and be unseen. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s my first.”

“Ours too,” Emily hums. She chuckles a little. “Well, Mike could’ve won one with his Comey reporting, probably.”

“Oh, that was just a good scoop, it wasn’t anything, really,” Mike says, suddenly sitting up. Emily chuckles again and gives Ronan a sheepish shrug.

He leans his head back a little so he can get a good look at them, expression almost thoughtful and considered as he asks, “Which would you prefer – the White House or the Justice Department?”

Mike’s always been a nice guy. He always does what’s asked of him. He shrugs. “Well, one is a cesspool of old white men defending the military industrial complex, with a bunch of internal and external racism and misogyny.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “And the White House is pretty bad too.”

Ronan’s laugh is, as always, enchanting, and Mike has to remind himself that he’s supposed to hate it – hate _him_ , in fact. Don’t get it confused, he was using you, blah blah blah, he’s kinda cute, isn’t he?

Mike looks away. They stand in silence for a few moments, supposedly listening to the speaker but he’s already forgotten his name so there’s really no reason for him to keep listening, now is there? Ronan shuffles a little beside Emily, maybe even trying to catch Mike’s attention.

He’s not going to fall for the same trick all over again. Nope. Not this time.

Then there’s the sound of clapping they all join in as Emily steps forward and takes the podium and – oh no. Oh, no.

Somehow the gap that formerly contained Emily is filled in by the two of them simultaneously, and then Ronan is leaning over him. Mike can feel his breath on his skin and he tries not to breathe it in.

Maybe he should’ve given the speech.

“You didn’t call me back,” Ronan finally says.

Mike swallows hard. “Well,” he starts, pushing his glasses up his nose, “I was busy.”

“From November to April.”

“Yes.”

The corner of Ronan’s mouth quirks and he leans back against the wall as he shakes his head. “You’re really something, Mike,” he hums.

Mike resists the urge to purse his lips like a petulant child but he does cross his arms, almost (okay, there’s no almost about it) childishly as he replies, “So’s your boyfriend.” He tries not to scoff, he’s trying to keep the moral upper hand here. “Are you guys going to dinner after this?”

“No,” Ronan says, staring resolutely ahead. “He’s not here.”

“Oh.” It slips out because he can’t help himself. Curse him and his introverted nature. “I’m sorry.”

Ronan turns his head and raises a brow. “Why are _you_ sorry?”

“I’m an apologetic person by nature?” Mike says, shrugging a little. He hopes he doesn’t look half as embarrassed as he feels.

“Oh, that goes without saying.” Except it’s not Ronan who says that, it’s Emily standing behind him, and wow, was he really so caught up in himself that he missed her entire speech? She smiles at them. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” they say at the same time.

Ronan opens his mouth but before he can get the words out, he’s being called up to the podium and everyone is clapping and cheering for him.

To her credit, Emily waits a bit before she asks, watching him stare resolutely at the ground and trying not to look at Ronan’s ass (he doesn’t have a bad ass), before her curiosity gets the better of her and she asks, “What were you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Mike whispers back. And, in a sense, he’s right. They weren’t really talking about anything. Really, they’re still in the same place they were after Mike ghosted on him last year. Status quo ante bellum.

Except not really, because even though he and Ronan don’t get a chance to resume their conversation on-stage before they’re all returning to their seats and the dinner is ending, even though Emily is all but ready to ditch this joint and head out, Mike still has to use the restroom.

“I’ll be really quick,” he promises, as she sighs and sits back in her seat.

“You better.”

It’s lucky that the bathroom is empty. Or, well, effectively empty. Or, as it turns out, not at all empty because while he’s washing his hands, who should step up beside him than the one and only Ronan Farrow? Again. For the second time that night.

“You know,” Mike says aloud, “if I knew any better, I’d say you were following me.”

Ronan shrugs. “Maybe I’m just trying to figure out what happened that ruined our relationship.”

“Not that we had much of one to begin with,” Mike counters.

“We used to text all the time.”

“You should’ve apologized.” That throws Ronan off his game. He shakes his hands over the sink to dry them out and raises his brows. Mike shuts off his faucet before he elaborates. “That night we… you know… did that, I checked your phone while you left to get tea.”

Ronan’s eyes go wide. “You checked my phone?”

“To check the time,” Mike says quickly. “Come on, you know I’m not that kind of guy.”

“I don’t really know what kind of guy you are,” Ronan replies.

 _That makes two of us._ Mike clears his throat. “Regardless, I didn’t exactly appreciate the connotation of the texts you got from Jon.”

Something stiffens in Ronan’s jaw when he says Jon’s name, but his voice remains level as he speaks. “And what exactly is the connotation you got from the texts?”

“What do you think?” Mike crosses his arms again (lucky his suit is dark, he forgot to dry them) and he’s a grateful that he’s slightly taller than Ronan. Even though Ronan makes him feel kind of small.

“Come on,” Ronan sighs. “You know me. I wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Do I know you?” Mike asks.

There’s a long pause. Mike isn’t really sure who moves first, he’d like to say with confidence that it wasn’t him but then again, he is the one pushing Ronan against the wall of the bathroom while Ronan grips the back of his head as they make out.

It’s a bit of an odd comfort to know that Ronan hasn’t changed much in the way he kisses. He pulls away a little to tug on Mike’s tie, chuckling a little against his cheek. “So we’re having hate sex now, are we?”

Mike rolls his eyes. One of his hands is inside Ronan’s jacket, resting on his waist and maybe sliding down under his belt, he isn’t quite sure of it yet. He lets out a breath and presses his lips to the side of Ronan’s jaw. “I… I don’t hate you.”

“Really?” Ronan hums. Mike’s tie is loose now and Ronan’s fingers are light on the nape of his neck, fiddling idly with his top button like he’s planning on taking it off. “Could’ve fooled me.”

It’s not the first time Mike has had no idea what’s going on between him and Ronan, but he’s not going to let him get the upper hand. He undoes the buckle of Ronan’s belt and it’s a very good thing Ronan is half-hard or otherwise, he would’ve had some trouble trying to figure out how to get him off.

“Oh,” Ronan says, breathing it out like a sigh, but the glint in his eyes remains. “Oh, so that’s how we’re doing this, huh?”

Mike opens his mouth to shut him up but then Ronan’s kissing him again. It’s extremely reminiscent of their first time together, when they kissed in the kitchen over a glass of red wine. For a brief moment, anger stops coloring his memories and he lets himself admit that he did in fact miss it.

Ronan is very nice at kissing. His thumb lines Mike’s jaw in a slow and deliberate motion, contrasting the messy strokes Mike is using to get him off.

It should occur to them in a manner that isn’t an offhanded comment in the back of his head that they’re in the middle of a public restroom where anyone could see them, but then Ronan finds a spot right beside Mike’s earlobe that makes his eyes roll backward and that’s the end of rational thinking.

Mike’s not sure if he should be thankful or embarrassed that Ronan doesn’t come too hard, that it all stays relatively within his pants and Mike just has to wipe his hand on the inside of his trousers as he removes it. He doesn’t know why he’s the one out of breath, when Ronan’s the one who just came.

Ronan must know what he’s thinking, considering that little smirk of his as he lets out a small little laugh. But they’re interrupted again when there’s the telltale buzzing of someone’s phone. Ronan pulls it out of his pocket with shaking hands and sighs. “I have to take this.”

“Okay,” Mike says. He takes a step back and is about to head for the sink again, before turning back to him. “Hey, um. If you want to, I don’t know, text me again… I think I’ll reply this time.”

“You think?” Ronan chuckles.

“Maybe,” Mike corrects. “Maybe I’ll answer.” He wants to say more, he wants to talk this out some more (maybe he wants reciprocal sex but he doesn’t _need_ it), but he’s kept too much of Ronan’s time already.

He washes his hands as Ronan answers and tries not to eavesdrop in on the conversation, not that there is much to eavesdrop on when all he’s doing is making confirming noises.

It’s not until Mike’s passing him by to leave that he grabs his arm and whispers, more quietly than anything he’s said all day, “I’m sorry.”

Mike doesn’t realize he’s outside of the bathroom until Emily is tugging on his arm. “Hey, I’ve been waiting for ages,” she huffs, gaze suddenly softening when she sees his face. Is there something on his face?

“Um,” Mike replies and it probably sounds as dumb to her as it does to him.

“You okay?” she asks, hooking her arm in his as they head out of the hall. Mike doesn’t even manage a verbal response this time, just a vague sort of grunt as he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other.

He doesn’t see her look of concern but he does hear the slight threat in her tone when she says, “Since you won’t tell me what’s wrong, I guess I’ll have to call Tim and figure out for myself what’s up between you and Ronan.”

To say he trips isn’t accurate – a better description would be that his body suddenly spasms and stops obeying him and he nearly falls to the floor. He looks around to make sure no one is paying much attention to them, then lets out a small groan. “Not so loud,” he hisses.

Emily crosses her arms and holds back the full force of her smirk. “So there _is_ something,” she hums. “Care to share with the rest of the class?”

Mike runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He really needs new friends who can’t immediately see through him and past him and into the inner depths of his heart. “I need a drink.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay,” Mike says, taking a deep breath. “Okay…. Oh, kay.”

“Mike,” Emily deadpans, “if you say ‘okay’ one more time, I’m going to step my heel on your feet and then you’ll be sorry.”

“Sorry,” Mike whispers. He clatters his fork around on the plate, trying to add to the ambient noise of the hall. It’s a very big hall and everyone is talking and he’s very glad he doesn’t have to lower his voice to an inaudible register while he talks. “I’m just – nervous.”

“I know, I know,” Emily says soothingly. She sighs and shakes her head. “I can’t believe he brought his boyfriend. I thought you said they’d broken up.”

“Well it _sounded_ like they’d broken up,” Mike sighs. “You remember how I described his tone, right?”

“Yes, you went into extreme detail on Ronan’s tone,” Emily snarks, but the affection in her voice is clear. “So, you think he used you again? Or do you think he just went back to his boyfriend after you ghosted on him yet again?”

“I didn’t ghost on him,” he huffs. “He’s the one who didn’t text me.”

She just nods and he intends to try and convince him more, but she gets up and heads off somewhere. He’s nearly finished his meal once she returns, a few minutes later, and her voice is very level as she whispers, “Don’t look, but Ronan’s looking this way.”

Mike nearly chokes on his water. He’s about to turn his head when Emily elbows his ribs.

“I said don’t look,” she hisses.

“How am I not supposed to look?” he replies, hopefully over the sound of his frantically beating heart. “Is he still looking?”

“I’m not gonna look and check,” she snaps, before she does exactly that. “Oh, okay, Kendrick Lamar just came in and everyone’s focusing on that now.” She pauses for a bit. “Oh, Ronan and his mom, I think, just got up to meet him.”

Mike lets out a groan. “Aw, man, I wanted to go meet him.”

“ _You_ wanted to meet Kendrick Lamar?” Emily looks at him like he’s grown a third head.

“What, I can’t like rap music?” he asks. There’s a short, awkward silence, then he wraps an arm around the back of her chair and sighs. “Okay, I just wanted to make Tim jealous.”

Emily starts to laugh and Mike is pretty sure Jodi snaps a picture of that.

Everything goes off without a hitch during the start of the ceremony, though of course, Mike can’t get the feeling out of his head that Ronan might be sneaking a glance at him. Maybe he wasn’t actually looking at him, maybe he was looking beyond him – but even then, he probably should’ve noticed him, right?

When their prize is announced and they’re all walking on stage to collect, Mike nearly trips over himself to keep up with Emily. He resist the urge to hold her hand to make sure they’re not separated but he does try to mentally project that he doesn’t want to be left alone without her.

And then he all but forgets about her when Mike turns and sees Ronan coming in, arms outstretched and a pleasant smile on his face.

 _He’s going to kiss me,_ is the first thought in Mike’s head, but of course that’s not what’s happening, Ronan is not going to kiss him in front of everyone and his mother and his _boyfriend_. The hug lasts a few brief seconds but Mike catches a whiff of his cologne and maybe his brain short-circuits a little.

They’re all trying to get into place for the picture and Mike doesn’t know how he’s suddenly standing behind David Remnick who has his hand on the small of Ronan’s back (right above his nice ass – okay, get ahold of yourself, stop staring at his ass).

In his panicked state, it takes a few moments for him to find Emily and she pushes past someone to make sure he’s standing right next to her. His heart is definitely beating in his neck right now and if he isn’t careful, he’s going to maybe throw his lunch up all of a sudden.

Ronan comes up to him right as the picture is over, though they’re only able to exchange half a hug before someone else tries to claim Ronan’s time and Mike has to exit the stage before it looks to conspicuous.

He’s sure his grin is very conspicuous, but people might think he’s like this because, well, you know, he did just win a Pulitzer.

“Can you believe it?” Emily asks as they sit down, her smile taking over her entire face.

“I think I can,” Mike smiles back.

Things are kind of a blur after that. He lets Emily take the actual prize since she has a purse (and also because she’s far more deserving of it than he is), and nothing feels quite real. He’s sort of standing aimlessly by the stairs until Maggie’s suddenly grabbing his arm.

“Emily told me I need to keep an eye on you,” she hums, “lest you sit around and try to disappear into the walls.”

Mike chuckles as she shakes his head. “Congratulations, you guys,” he hums.

“Hey, congrats yourself,” Adam grins back at him. “I mean, the bunch of us shared our Pulitzer while you and Emily got to split it fifty-fifty.”

“More like seventy-five, twenty-five,” Mike corrects. “She did most of the work, I was just there to intimidate Bill O’Reilly.”

“Because Bill O’Reilly would be intimidated by a five-foot-something Jewish nerd,” Maggie deadpans, and they all laugh a little at that.

They’re all on their phones for a bit, scrolling through Twitter and messages to see what they might’ve missed during the ceremony, but Mike takes a short break when he thinks he hears Ronan’s voice ring through the crowd.

His mother, Mia, is right on his arm but not far from him stands Jon. They look like a picture-perfect family.

Mike has the sudden desperate need for fresh air. He pockets his phone and starts to leave the group without a word, but just his luck, the livestream guy finds him and corners him. His social anxiety quickly overcomes all his senses and he doesn’t even hear the question the guy is asking him.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie says as she suddenly materializes beside him, “I need him for some work.” She throws him a sweet smile and tugs Mike forward, toward the door and away from the crowd.

Once they’re outside and he can breathe fresh air, he gives Maggie a grateful look. “Thanks for that,” he sighs.

“Don’t mention it,” she smiles.

He might’ve had a longer conversation with her, probably about what work they actually have to do when they get back into work, but there’s a polite “excuse me” from behind them.

They both take a step back and Jon walks right between them, stepping quickly down the stairs like he can’t wait to be rid of this place. There’s a split moment where he turns his head and looks at him and oh, _wow,_ can Jon Lovett throw a nasty look when he wants to.

And then he’s walked away and left Mike blinking after him.

“Huh,” Maggie says. She turns to Mike. “Did you do something to piss him off?”

“I don’t know?” he poses it as a question because a statement wouldn’t technically be true. He might actually know what he did but no way is he going to dwell on it, not when –

“Hey guys,” Ronan steps between the two of them, smiling genially. “Maggie, do you mind if I borrow him for a moment?”

Mike wishes he didn’t have such smart and insightful friends because all Maggie has to do is look between him and Ronan for her expression to turn into one of knowing-with-a-capital-K. “Sure,” she hums, and – oh, is that a wink? Did she just wink at him? Fuck, she and Emily and Tim should make a group chat dedicated to fucking with him.

There’s a long, almost tense silence between them after she leaves. It’s certainly too late to go and chase after her, so he’s just stuck here with Ronan. He clears his throat. “So, um… where’s Jon going?”

“I don’t know,” Ronan says. His tone makes Mike’s breath catch in his throat. It’s the same as before, he really wasn’t imagining it. Which means – oh.

“Oh,” Mike says.

“Yeah.” Ronan shifts a little on his feet before he meets Mike’s eyes again. “My mom is meeting some friends for drinks after this. Do you think you could get some coffee with me, then?”

Mike knows he’s not supposed to say, ‘we were just at a ceremony where they served us lunch’ or ‘I have work to do with my Pulitzer-prize winning team’ so he says, “Okay.”

Ronan smiles and Mike smiles back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They start making out as soon as the door to Ronan’s apartment is closed. His was closer than Mike’s, but he makes a mental note to take him there next time. It’s not exactly fair for them to only visit one of their apartments when Mike has all his things at his place.

Ronan’s pressing his thigh between Mike’s legs and Mike exhales a moan into his mouth. His glasses ride up the side of his face and he removes one of his hands from Ronan’s hair to pull them off and set them aside on the kitchen counter.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you did that, should I?” Ronan chuckles against his lips.

Mike rolls his eyes. “No, you shouldn’t.”

Ronan’s got very deft fingers. He remembers vaguely an exchange of texts that revealed he played guitar, but his fingers are more of a violinist than anything. He can take off Mike’s belt and throw it on the floor without looking, soon followed by his pants. “Let me pay you back for the bathroom at the Newseum. A Pulitzer-worthy payback.”

“A what kind of payback?” Mike blinks. And then his eyes are rolling into the back of his head because the next thing he knows, Ronan is on his knees and his mouth is on Mike’s dick and wow, does he have a mouth.

One of his hands stay against the back of the door to keep himself steady, but the other lets itself remain in Ronan’s hair, squeezing lightly when he feels Ronan throw his tongue into the mix. “Fuck,” he says, aloud, followed by a short groan.

Ronan looks up at him through lidded eyes and fluttering lashes, coy and playful even with his mouth full of cock. Mike pushes his hair out of his forehead and leans his head back until it hits the back of the door.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “yeah, keep going.”

As though Ronan was going to stop. One of his hands squeezes Mike’s leg as he shifts himself straighter (ironic), able to take Mike in a little deeper and is that a good thing. Mike suddenly forgets how to use his words and he has to push on Ronan’s face to signify that he’s close, letting him pull his mouth off and get in a few strokes before Mike comes on his floor.

It takes him a few moments to regain brain function, breathing a bit before he looks down at Ronan on the floor. “Well,” he says, “I’m not sure if that was exactly a Pulitzer-prize winning blow job…”

“Oh, wow,” Ronan laughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his head. “I had no idea you were gonna be this mean, Mike.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you’ll be singing a different tune once I fuck you with my Pulitzer-prize winning dick,” he jokes, and grins when Ronan laughs even harder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mike wakes up to the sound of keys clacking while someone types right next to him. He doesn’t open his eyes until he can wrap his fingers around the phone on the bedside table and check the time.

“Ronan,” he grumbles. “Ronan, it’s three in the fucking morning.”

He turns his head to see the man himself sitting upright in bed, still shirtless, only illuminated by the light of the computer. “I know.”

“Why – why are you even up?” Mike tries to rub the sleep from his eyes even though all he wants to do is go back to sleep. “Did something happen?”

“Not exactly,” Ronan says slowly. “I woke up and remembered that there was an email I forgot to reply to.”

“And then?”

Ronan pauses for a long moment. “Well… maybe I opened up Fortnite after that…” Mike doesn’t respond, just leans over and closes the lid on the laptop. Ronan lets out a short laugh and shakes his head. “You know you just ruined my K-D ration, yeah?”

“You’re playing in the middle of the night, how good could it have been?” Mike deadpans, ducking when Ronan tries to hit him with his pillow.

He slides off the other side of the bed and stretches himself out a bit before pulling on his boxers. “Hey, you want some tea?”

“Yeah,” Mike hums. “I’d love some.”

**Author's Note:**

> in the au version i discussed with liz, kendrick lamar helps mike win over ronan


End file.
